


Ablaze

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Gen, anyway this has been pretty much canonballed at this point but oh well, i still love peter too much so this is the result, well i mean sorta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At first glance, she didn't want to believe what her eyes were telling her. Where was the man with the smooth voice? Who was this strange boy with his not-like-Lewis-and-Clark clothing and eyes like ice? But she was not stupid - she was thoughtless, she was impulsive, but she was not stupid - and she knew better than to waste time with questions."</p>
<p>Also on ff.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to post this here ever since I first wrote it, and now I've finally gotten up the courage to do it. (Way, way after it's even relevant.) Part One and Two take place on the same night, but Part Three picks up directly after the seventh episode in Season Three, Dark Hollow. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

The first thing she heard was the sloshing of water against wood. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary, of course. Rushing waves had been the sound she'd fallen asleep to; in fact, on calmer nights, she'd often used the tides comings and goings as a lullaby, relaxing her, easing the day's stress away.

This hadn't been a calm night.

Her head lolled as the canoe shifted, dark hair moving to tickle her nose. She snorted and her father's hand came up to rest on her head, strong and gentle.  _"Sleep, my flower,"_ he told her.  _"There is still far to go."_

As her eyes slid shut again, she thought about what they were doing. In a boat, surrounded by other boats, manned by other men and women who were committing the same crime. No matter what name you call it by, she mused, a retreat is still running away from a fight.

A fire rose in her belly as she considered it, warm, familiar. The tribe could've taken them, Lewis and Clark, those traitors. Take care of them first and then move on to the rest, the ones they'd brought with them, spill their blood on the stones, let it wash into the rivers and stain them red, let the land taste their victory, yes, yes, her heart thrummed with righteous fury, they would not get away with it, they could n-

The canoe bumped against sand, jolting her out of her thoughts. Her father was already standing, giving orders, being a chief. Someone offered her a hand to pull her ashore, but before they could, she was hoisted up onto her father's shoulder. Perhaps he thought her still asleep? Or perhaps he thought she lacked the strength that standing required. Her teeth gritted, but she restrained herself. He was her chief. She would obey.

People spilled from canoes, carrying with them all that they'd brought in their haste to leave from the land she called home. She looked around, blinked once, twice. Of all the abilities she boasted, she did not have night vision, but this place that they'd landed looked to be thickly forested. Her eyes narrowed. Plants meant coverage for hostiles or - what had Clark called her? A savage. Coverage for savages.

"You all look rather lost." A voice. Smooth, lilting. His speech was much more soothing than Lewis and Clark's had been. Everyone else's eyes swept in the direction her back was facing and she cursed her father for not trusting his sixteen-year-old daughter to stand upright without causing trouble.

She felt the change in his posture as her father straightened, addressing the smooth-voiced speaker. "We come from long way," he said, struggling to make use of the little English he knew.

The other voice laughed. "Everyone comes a long way to get to Neverland," was his response. "I assume you came here seeking sanctuary?" His voice grew louder. Closer. "I rule here, so I'm the only one in position to grant it." Her father's body tensed.

"But you've caught me in a giving mood this evening, so I'll let you stay here. Temporarily," he continued. The chief's posture remained stiff and she realized he didn't know what this stranger offered. He could barely understand simple English, let alone the elegant speech of the newcomer. Immediately, she began squirming, silently begging to be let down.

The man with the lilting speech must have noticed this, for next she heard, "What's that on your shoulder? A trophy?" Only at that did her father take her down from his shoulder and plant her bare feet firmly on the sandy shore.

At first glance, she didn't want to believe what her eyes were telling her. Where was the man with the smooth voice? Who was this strange boy with his not-like-Lewis-and-Clark clothing and eyes like ice? But she was not stupid - she was thoughtless, she was impulsive, but she was not stupid - and she knew better than to waste time with questions.

Turning to her father, she explained the offer to him in their native tongue.  _"He wishes to help us, Father,"_ she said.  _"He will let us stay here for a time."_ Her voice caught on her next words.  _"He rules this land."_

The chief looked as skeptical as she felt. How could this person, this boy who couldn't be too much older than her, rule anything? Could his father have been a chief who died too soon? But, no. He couldn't be a chief. He was a like-Lewis-and-Clark. A white man. He was a savage.

It took her a few seconds to realize that she'd murmured these words aloud and, horror of horrors, in English. In an instant, his eyes fixed upon her, but he didn't seem angry. No, he seemed almost pleased. A bark of laughter escaped his throat, bitter, sharp. He slipped the slightest bit closer to her. She ignored her father's stern fingers on her arm.

"What's your name?" he asked her, his voice soft. It amazed her how quickly his voice could shift and morph itself into something new and in the midst of her awe, her real name slipped out: "Tiger Lily." Her father's fingers were going to leave bruises.

The boy's lips curved upward in a half-smile and he bent slightly at the waist. A bow; Lewis had showed her one before. A sign of goodwill. It was etiquette, whatever that was. "I am Peter Pan. And yes, Tiger Lily. I am a savage." He hovered just in front of her. Her eyes remained fixed on his. "I am a savage of the worst kind."

And so there came to be Indians in Neverland.

 


	2. Part Two

A roaring fire set shadows dancing through the darkness. Tiger Lily stared into the blaze, her gaze matching its intensity. Once or twice, a shadow would flicker in this specific  _way_ that she couldn't put her finger on. Nevertheless, it always caught her eye, made her look up in surprise and see her people resting, speaking in hushed tones.  _They're afraid. They want to go home. We cannot stay here._

The touch of a hand on her shoulder made her jump.  _"Oh, it's you, Mother Willow,"_ sighed Tiger Lily, trying to settle her heart. The elderly woman took a seat on the ground next to her, worry creasing her already lined face.  _"Are you alright?"_ she asked as she held out her hands to warm them.  _"Not scared, are you?"_

Tiger Lily looked astonished. _"_ _Mother Willow!"_   She forced a laugh that felt surprisingly unforced.  _"When am I ever afraid? Neverland is only a temporary situation. We will stay here for a time to regroup and then we will return home, ready to reclaim what is ours."_

Mother Willow studied her for a moment in silence, as if unsure whether or not to believe her young charge. Tiger Lily did have a penchant for exaggerating. But in another moment, her face relaxed into a broad smile.  _"Let us hope so, little one,"_ she replied as she leaned over to kiss Tiger Lily's forehead. She resisted the impulse to squirm away.  _Flower. Little one._

Long after Mother Willow retired to her sleeping mat, Tiger Lily stayed by the fire's remains, looking into the glowing embers. All her life, she had been patronized and talked down to and all her life, she'd tried to prove herself worthy of better treatment. Why should this attempt be any different? Her eyes drifted to the trees again, her mind to the unknown that lay beyond it. Maybe this time she wouldn't be just a liability. She would explore, discover what the tribe was up against. Maybe that would garner some respect.

Standing slowly, she walked, quickly and quietly out of the clearing her people had claimed earlier that evening and into the forest. Into the home of shadows.

It had been barely half an hour before she heard his voice. "Not lost, are you?"

Tiger Lily didn't jump. She didn't squeal or squeak. She simply let the leaf she'd been examining fall and turned to look at him. Let him see that she didn't scare so easy. "I couldn't sleep," she muttered, hesitantly trying to do the curtsy Lewis had attempted to teach her. He'd given up soon after he'd begun, complaining of poor posture and asserting that she'd never really need to use it anyway. 

Peter didn't seem to care much about her poor posture, though. "I appreciate the gesture, but there's no need for that here," he assured her, a lazy smirk proudly displayed on his face for all the world to see. "Neverland doesn't care much for etiquette. And neither do I."

She nodded, feeling rather relieved. If constant curtsying had been one of his rules, the tribe would've had to vacate the island much sooner than planned.

A moment passed. And then another.

When it became apparent to her that he wasn't going to leave, she figured she may as well utilize him. "I don't recognize this plant," she said, pointing to the leaf she'd been so interested in. He walked over, his thumbs resting in the loops of his belt. "That doesn't surprise me," he replied. "It's native to Neverland. Most plants here are."

He wasn't looking at the plant when Tiger Lily looked back at him. He was looking at her, full in the face, his eyes of ice inquisitive. "What?" she snapped, her mind reminding her moments later that this was the ruler who had so kindly allowed her people sanctuary on his land and no, that was probably not the way to speak to him. 

His eyebrow arched and though she'd seen people do that countless times before, somehow on him, it looked threatening. Was she just being distrustful. Probably. But she had a sneaking suspicion he deserved it. "Is there a problem? I was only looking at you," he told her. Tiger Lily bit back the retort that 'was' implied that he'd stopped.

"It's the way you're looking at me," she huffed, glancing around to make sure that no one from camp had followed her into the forest. When her eyes moved back to Peter, he was even closer to her. "How am I looking at you?" He smirked, so pleased with himself. Too pleased. "Tiger Lily, was it? Sounds like Lillian, do you mind Lillian?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "You seem a little jumpy, Lillian. Are you frightened?" Clearly, someone needed to knock Peter Pan off his high horse. And that someone would be her.

"No," replied Tiger Lily, glaring up into his face. "I fear nothing."

Peter laughed, shook his head. "Really. It's not good form to lie to people," he said. Her blood boiled. She knew that tone, that patronizing 'you don't know what you're talking about' voice. Forget about how he should be spoken to; he deserved an arrow through his forehead for speaking to the daughter of a chief that way. For speaking to  _her_ that way. "What about dying?" he mused, now circling around her, an animal eyeing its prey. She gave him a steady look. "Fearing death is useless," she replied coolly. "It will claim us ll eventually. After I die, my soul will be reborn into another form; therefore, I will never truly die."

He frowned the slightest bit. "That's not exactly certain here," he explained. "On Neverland, a person never grows any older. I've looked this way for quite a few years now."

Her brows rose. Could this be true?  _It does not matter._ "We are not staying." She added a polite smile at the end for effect.

Apparently, he didn't like that answer.

Peter's eyes grew darker, angrier. A scowl was etched firmly into his features. "What about your father dying, your grandmother?" he spat, his eyebrows drawn down low. Tiger Lily shrugged, picking through strands of her hair as if he were boring her. "Their deaths are also inevitable, Peter. They will be missed, but I will become chief and I will guide my people. And then I will die and someone else will guide them."

A warmth began in her belly and spread outward to her limbs, loosening their stiffness, bringing a slow grin to her face. Whether it was accidental or not, he was forcing her to realize something she'd long hoped was true. For once, Tiger Lily understood that she really, truly did not fear anything. Not pain, not sickness, not heights or water or even the white man. Long ago, she'd thought she did. Even an hour ago, she'd thought she did. But now, standing in front of this boy who seemed able to inspire more terror in her people than any man she'd ever known, she could admit to herself that any fear she felt was feigned.

"I told you." She looked up at Peter, the delight obvious on her face. "I fear nothing. You do not scare me, and you never will."

This was long before Tiger Lily learned of the games Peter Pan liked to play, and how absolutely irresistible he found a challenge.

With his head cocked to one side, Peter's face shifted instantly. He looked almost puzzled. "Is that so?" he wondered aloud, touching his fingers to his lips. Then he snapped his fingers and shadows flowed out of the woods and her knife slashed through pure darkness and something hissed and her arms were behind her and she couldn't remember putting them there.

Someone lay hunched on the ground, soundless but breathing. While Tiger Lily struggled with the boy who'd restrained her, Peter moved to the figure. "Felix...?" The name was a question. Felix lifted his head and blood dripped down his cheek to the forest floor. Tiger Lily's knife lay on the ground in front of him, moonlight glinting off the blade.

It was too dark to see exactly what damage she'd done, but she sincerely hoped the wound would bleed forever.

Peter was back in front of her then, his hand holding her head up, his eyes on hers. "You don't fear me, Tiger Lily?" he snarled. He reminded her of a wild animal, looking gentle from afar, but ready and willing to lash out once you came closer. "Then I'll make you. From this moment forward, you are my prisoner."

She bared her teeth at him, wishing that she hadn't deliberately walked so far away from camp. But wait. Wasn't the point of her expedition to gain respect? Certainly, Peter's would be more valuable than her tribe's, and much more hard-won.

"Taking me captive will not make me fear you, Pan."

The corners of his lips curled upwards as he looked down at her, his smile mischievous. "No? Well, perhaps this will. Maybe if I kidnap you and then free you and then kidnap you again when you least expect it, you'll learn to fear," he laughed. "It's true that nothing scares you, Tiger Lily, but I can see there's a deep love of freedom in you."

It was true. Since she'd been subdued, she hadn't struggling, not even once Peter had begun to speak.

He nodded at the boy behind her. "Toss her in a cage for the night. We'll release her... well, we'll release her when I feel like it." The boy nodded once and turned around, forcing the straining girl forward with the point of his own knife. Peter followed, tossing a "Get up, Felix" over his shoulder.

And so it came to be that Tiger Lily became a sort of prize on Neverland. Peter would have the Lost Boys steal her away every so often and when Hook came to Neverland, even he would join in on the fun. For a time, she lived in fear of being abducted every moment.

But then she realized that that was exactly what Peter wanted. Fear of what he might do was no different than fear of him. The instant it clicked was the very instant she stopped struggling. And the day she didn't struggle was the day Peter Pan decided his game was over.

Tiger Lily was no longer the prize. Tiger Lily was an opponent.


End file.
